


Compromise

by comete



Series: Quinn the Ghoul [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Fighting, M/M, New World, Racism, Slurs, We dont tolerate ghoul racists, old world, we love ghouls in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comete/pseuds/comete
Summary: Adjusting to the aftereffects of the Institute being destroyed, the people of Diamond City are confronted with the allowance of ghouls to visit their town.An example must be made.
Relationships: Deacon/Male Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Series: Quinn the Ghoul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650781
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Institute/game, Deacon and SoSu are already established. The word "zombie" in the FO world is usually considered a slur against ghouls, but some people don't know that because it's used so little.

Nearly everything had changed since the Institute had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes, the new typical fighting against the old ways of the surviving citizens of the Commonwealth. Synth replacement no longer was the frontline of concern when there was a noise coming from the neighbor’s house. Coursers weren’t desperately seeking out escaped synths who were trying to live a normal life. Ghouls were, though hesitantly, allowed to travel into Diamond City to strike up trade deals with the local vendors.  
  
It was a new beginning.   
  
After the dramatic fall of the Institute and the revelation of Mayor McDonough being a synth himself, Geneva took his place as mayor of the Commonwealth’s ‘Great Green Jewel’. She was practically already the mayor before the exposure, having carried out most of his duties while he drank neat bourbon out of a pre-war shot glass. He watched over the city from the comfort of his three-storied office, rarely leaving his place behind the scuffed glass to interact with anyone below. 

Well, besides Piper. It seemed as if he always appeared when she was thrown into the equation.

The decision to allow ghouls to trade in Diamond City was, by anyone’s account, not a popular one at first. Once Geneva had been easily voted into office was when she then decided to make her declaration of alliance with the mistreated people. It was well past due, in her opinion, arguing that the people of Diamond City would still be falsely accusing their own family of being replacements if it wasn’t for one man in particular who also just happened to be a ghoul.

Quinn the Ghoul was the former Vault Dweller who was responsible for bringing justice to the Institute's front door. He told his story to anyone who bothered to listen: from Minutemen curiously wanting to hear their General’s past to children who resided in tiny settlements that begged to hear the brave tale of heroism in face of almost certain death. 

Starting off in cryostasis, frozen away as a pre-war popsicle, Quinn emerged from his chilled slumber to find everything he knew to have been altered. A wife murdered, a child stolen, a face that no longer resembled his own. Ghoulified and nearly blind due to Vault-Tec’s side experiment in prolonged ice radiation, Quinn set out to bring fairness and equality to the people.

At least, that was the tale he liked to tell. He was careful to leave out the not-so-glamourous parts of the story, such as him being a closeted alcoholic and a struggling emotional wreck. 

Those, oddly enough, weren’t very audience grabbing.

Quinn traveled to Diamond City often and was even the first ghoul to receive ownership of property in the makeshift town after the election of Geneva. He had his own fixer-upper he called, “Home Plate,” that he was proud of. He was friends with the dealers that stood in their shops each day advertising their wares, even being on somewhat friendly terms with Crazy Myrna when he stopped to purchase some shipments of supplies to be sent to the settlements he watched over. Quinn once joked that he destroyed the Institute for her, purely kidding, which resulted in Myrna flirting heavily with Quinn thinking that he was serious and had done so to win her love.

_Gross._

Not everyone was as welcoming to the ghoul race as the vendors had been, though. He had been called names, ridiculed, hell, even shot at by random strangers while wandering the broken Boston. It wasn’t until one day in late September when helping Piper provide interviews in Diamond City that he was confronted in mass public humiliation for who, or what, he was that made him waver in confidence of his born-again race.

Piper and Quinn settled down on bar stools in front of Takahashi at the Power Noodles stand, Quinn paying for both of their single-serve noodle meals in response to, _“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”_

It had been a day full of Piper seeking out interviews from people who were less than eager to participate, the day winding down to an orange sunset finish. She was writing her latest article on the public’s opinion of allowing ghouls to take up residency in Diamond City. The feedback, to Quinn’s surprise, was overall fairly positive. He wondered if that was because he stood behind her during the questionnaire, looming over the conversation like a bodyguard despite being mostly unnamed. A near-blind ghoul in a brown wig and gray t-shirt with jeans wasn’t very intimidating, though.

They were both exhausted, digging into their slimy pepper seasoned noodles without a word between them. No ghoul beside Quinn had braved taking a stake in the housing market in the town, but nobody could blame the nervous individuals. Everyone recalled a time not so long ago that the citizens, who once believed they were safe, were killed and if lucky thrown out of the city. It was hard to create a welcoming marketing pitch when not even the one ghoul who owned property stayed for more than a few days at a time. 

Piper and Quinn had started with interviews of the locals, gathering opinions and polls of where everyone stood on the whole ordeal. It was mostly the rich individuals who resided in the Upper Stands that were against the race entering the town, some even slamming the door on Piper when they caught glimpse of Quinn drinking out of his water canteen behind her. They both were confident, maybe even to a fault, that the people were destined to embrace change whether they liked it or not. They just needed a push in the right direction. 

Piper chowed down on her cooked noodles with a pair of wooden chopsticks, reviewing the polling results that she had hastily jotted down in her notepad. Hazel eyes not looking up as Quinn spoke, Piper read through the different penciled in checkboxes. “Have you ever wondered why Myrna keeps a robot in her home if she hates synths so much? It’s been literally keeping me up the last few nights. I even _woke my boyfriend up_ one time to ask about it.”

The reporter closed her notebook and glanced over at the intense gaze of Quinn, eyes glued on the woman in the desperation of an answer that he couldn’t seem to find. It was a silly thing to lose sleep over, there was no argument there, but it also was such a contradictory situation that he couldn’t find a rational explanation anywhere. Piper pondered over the question for a moment, unsure herself why someone so paranoid about robots spying on her would keep one as a servant. “Huh. Well, uh . . . maybe she couldn’t find someone else to talk to,” Piper suggested. “Maybe she got lonely enough that she was willing to sacrifice her being spied on by the Institute? She keeps everyone arm’s length away. Well, besides you, since you took down the bad guys for her and all.”

Piper teased Quinn, the other smiling his Vault-Tec toothed smile and playfully pushing the reporter. He recalled out loud, setting down his own chopsticks to use his hands to speak, “Seriously, it’s weird. When I asked my boyfriend, he said maybe it was, like, a _‘keep-you-friends-close’_ sorta thing? I mean, yeah, the Institute and General Atomics are two different things, but I’m sure it’s had to have crossed her mind that the Institute can hack into other robots, right?”

The reporter smirked at her friend’s seriousness about the topic. He did have a point, she had to admit. Keeping a robot in your home as your only companion when you were paranoid about other robots didn’t quite make sense, especially when you ranted and raved to the public about how anti-technology you were. Piper went back to eating her noodles with her eyes skimming her red notepad. “Sorry, blue,” she settled, “I don’t have a good answer for you. Maybe you can ask her when you guys are at the altar right before you say your vows.”

Quinn grinned at the woman and held back the urge to nudge her a second time. Myrna was a nice gal once you got to know her and peeled back her crazy side. She really wasn’t that bad, but unfortunately for her Quinn was already claimed. Shaking his brown wigged head he mumbled to himself, staring down at his noodles, “Ah, she wishes. Not gonna happen.” 

The ghoul suddenly felt a tapping on his shoulder to his left in between him and Piper. Quinn turned around as the voice began relaying, “Hey, pal, can I sneak by you to get some noo-”

Cutting the words off in his own throat was a Diamond City guard dressed in full gear, instantly retracting his hand as he got an eyeful of Quinn in front of him. The ghoul could see him, though barely through the helmet, scrunch up his face and dart his eyes between Quinn and Piper. He gruffly scoffed, shaking his head and turning to walk to the right of the pair to sit at the other barside of Takahashi’s. He hissed out as he strode a few feet away, “Nevermind. _Lost my appetite.”_

The guard plopped down onto the rotating stool on the right side of the Power Noodles stand, picking up one of the many Nuka-Colas on the table and popping off the cap by using the counter as a bottle opener. He didn’t look in the direction of the duo, actually making it a point to look elsewhere. Piper opened her mouth to seethe out a reply at the horribly rude guard, but was cut off by Quinn placing a hand on her back and sympathetically asking, “Hey, are you okay? That was tough. Ouch.”

Piper shut her mouth for a moment, twisting her face in confusion as she squinted at her soft expression friend. What? Was she okay? “Uh, what do you mean, blue?” It was an odd thing to ask when he was the one who the comment had been obviously directed to. “Well,” Quinn rubbed her back slowly as he talked, hands running circles in the taught dyed leather, “that’s always a hard one to hear. I think you’re beautiful, though, and I am totally down for kicking his ass for you.”

She didn’t know what to say, a smile growing in the corner of her mouth as she tried to stifle a laugh. Setting down her notebook and fully turning her body to Quinn, who only folded his arms, she chuckled out with bright eyes, “You’re kidding, right? I don’t think he was talking my way, Q.”

Quinn only shrugged as he turned his attention back to his noodles, swirling his chopsticks in the center while targeting a few loose strands. “I dunno,” Quinn said aloud, “you do have quite the name for yourself. What did McDonough use to call you? _‘Little Miss Reporter’_ or somethin’ like that?”

Piper laughed to herself, shaking her head and watched Quinn innocently feed himself the spicy noodles. Was he serious? Ghouls were far from a regular occurrence in Diamond City and with racism in the Commonwealth never resting for even a second, she was positive the guard had been referring to Quinn. Piper shook her head once more and decided to leave the conversation, smile wide at the confidence in her partner that didn’t waver for a moment. 

It was a nice change. 

Before facing off with the Institute, Quinn had been just as shy (maybe even worse) than Travis Miles. He would hide behind whoever he was traveling with, despite being taller than nearly all of them, and would talk in soft barely coherent mumbles when spoken to. He had come into his own skin after confronting Boston’s public enemy, no longer afraid to speak his mind and talk to strangers as he was before. It made Piper’s heart warm thinking back to how far he had come since first leaving Vault 111 and wandering in search of the next settler to save or insignificant task that needed to be accomplished. In her book he was a hero, putting to rest the nightmares and horror stories that drifted into common resident’s home uninvited. She could never thank him enough for what he did for not only her (and Myrna) but for the entire state. He was a local legend. He had friends who cared about him deeply after everything he had done for the people, even some being the most unlikely of the sort. He was friends with drug dealing Mayors, a super mutant, and even a short emo/goth/punk fellow he was close with. He attracted the strangest of people, but yet it was all in good cause. He had deserved the friends he had made through trial and error. 

“Why are zombies so goddamn stupid, Takahashi? Huh? I’ll tell you why: They have no brains.”

Quinn felt his body run cold for a moment at the slur against his race, sucking in a harsh breath and snapping his attention to the voice along with Piper. It belonged to the guard who sat only a few feet away on the separate counter island, leaned over the table and pretending to be talking to the noodle chef. The guard had removed his helmet, tanned skin with deep olive freckles and sandy blonde-brown untrimmed hair now revealed. Smile wicked, eyes moved to glance at Quinn who stared silently, the guard leaned off of the counter and bumped his swaying feet against the bar in anticipation of what the ghoul might say.

Zombie, in the New World, was an offensive slur that was the start of many fights against humans and ghouls. It was a bad, dirty word, comparing the race to a disgusting comic book creature as a joke. It made Quinn sick when hearing stories of other ghouls who had been ridiculed against humans who repeatedly called them names similar to ‘zombie’ and yet here he was experiencing the same treatment. Quinn mentally cursed to himself, then actually cursed out loud to Piper. “Well, shit. I guess he was talking about me.”

Piper gritted her teeth at the foul word, eyes glaring daggers at the smug man who enjoyed watching the pair take on the displeasure of his joke. Three hundred years ago that joke would’ve been cute, one that Quinn probably would’ve told Shaun when he was a little older. But now? Things were different. They were past the days when jokes such as these were okay. Quinn took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, not wanting to cause a scene even if it was well deserved. Piper mumbled to her partner, eyes serious and mad, “Ignore him, blue. He’s not worth even getting upset over.”

Quinn’s hands trembled slightly at the thought of taking action against the guard. He almost, almost, almost, allowed it to pass. He would’ve, he swears to Atom, if the man hadn’t made a second joke. 

“Hey? Tak?”

_“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”_

“Do ghouls- oops, I mean zombies,” the man loudly made the error on purpose, “eat dinner with their family? No, ‘course not. The dinner was his family.

Quinn burst up from the bar at once after slamming his hands onto the counter, flashing up like a bolt of lightning and stalking the few feet over to the man who had also jumped up onto his heels to meet the pissed off ghoul’s eye line. Piper was right behind Quinn, grabbing the man’s arm to pull him back as Quinn lowly growled into the guard’s face, “Say it again. _I dare you.”_

The two men were inches away from each other, eyes burning in rage as they invaded personal space as a show of dominance to see who would back down first. Both stubborn, they stood at a standstill for a few seconds while Piper repeatedly tried to drag Quinn away. “Blue,” she spoke quickly as she took note of the crowd of residents starting to gather, “come on, leave it. He isn’t-”

The guard laughed in the direction of Piper, removing his eyes from Quinn’s momentarily before peering back up at him with the same glare as previously. The tanned human spoke with vile seeping off of his tongue, grumbling, “Your lady doesn’t want to see you get your ass kicked. Smart of her. One punch and I’d break your rotted jaw. I’d be doin’ everyone a favor, though. You won’t be able to eat brains anymore.” 

It was stupid. Extremely stupid. Atom forgive him, he couldn’t help it. 

Quinn decked the man full force with a nasty right hook that sent the bare-faced guard sprawling backward and nearly falling, but regaining his strict composure after stumbling for a moment. His cheek instantly turned red from the hard-hit, holding his right hand up to meet the spot of impact. The shocked guard blinked a few times in awe of the show of strength. He didn’t expect the ghoul to fight back, but now that he had made the first swing? Game on.

Quinn braced for impact as the guard let out a guttural yell and lunged forward, throwing himself on top of Quinn as they met the dirt below with the wind knocked out of Quinn’s lungs. The ghoul took in a deep breath as the guard sat up from the other’s chest and punched into his face multiple times, swing after swing meeting his face. Quinn shoved the man off of him with an adrenaline-fueled burst of energy in between one of the rough blows. The guard was lying on his back similar to Quinn after being toppled off. The ghoul stood up and prepared himself for another strike that was to be followed as the guard snapped back to his feet in a second. A crowd formed around the punch throwing duo, cheering on one of the two individuals while Piper screamed at Quinn to stop the fighting. Vendors, travelers, hell- even the other guards all gathered around to root for one of the two bloodied men who didn’t cease to stop fighting for a moment.

Hooks, kicks, and wild punches were being met with flesh contact with every move that was made in the fight. Quinn was at a severe disadvantage, not being armed at all with any protective gear, unlike the guard he fought. It was difficult to land any punch that wasn’t to the face without his fist bouncing back without having done any damage to the armor. The crowd had blocked Piper out from interfering with the fight, the yelling reporter shoving and threatening anyone who wouldn’t let her through as she tried to make her way through the woven people to break up the spat. Quinn cocked his left hand to swing a tough blow but instead left himself vulnerable to a facial attack when he heard Piper call his name clearly. Turning his attention to sort her out through the several cheering faces, Quinn was hit hard with a punch directly to the jaw that sent him stumbling back a few feet.

Somehow staying upright, Quinn took on a failed defensive position that was imposed too late. He had been hit in the forehead harshly with something metal that was encased with leather. He would later find out that the hard object had been a pistol handle, having been met with the gun rough enough that his already poor vision blinded in pain. Quinn fell back on his ass, cringing while trying to see his attacker clearly. Tunnel vision in the midst of a fight? That wasn’t a good sign. Blacking out typically followed the thick audio and visual numbed state.

“It’s over, ghoul,” the guard called out with his voice sounding oddly distant and dream-like. “I’m making an example out of you. Ain’t no zombies allowed in Diamond City. Not now, not ever.”

Ears ringing and head pounding with blood and pain, Quinn lifting his aching head to see the guard standing feet planted in the dirt and a 10mm pistol pointed straight at his skull from near point-blank range as he felt himself starting to slip. Finger on the trigger, the gunshot rang out before he could react. All fell black around the ghoul, silence accompanying the dark without a single moment of notice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has some small sexual teasing at the end, nothing crazy though.

“Am I dead? I don’t think I made the cut to heaven, did I?”

Quinn felt pain flood through his body as he kept his bruised eyes shut tight, not wanting to yet face wherever he was. Heaven, hell, or limbo could all wait a moment while he took on the burning ache that covered his broken body like a blanket. He spoke to himself but surprisingly got an answer back from an unknown man that sounded not too far from Quinn. “No. You’re alive, but probably wishing you weren’t right about now. What’s the last thing you remember?”

The voice felt vaguely familiar. It was too rough and low to be anyone he recognized off the bat but sounded like it belonged to a distant relative of someone he knew. Did Preston have some estranged cousin he never told Quinn about? The ghoul scrunched his face together as he tried to place the last memory he could recall. He was doing interviews with Piper, talking about Mryna, dealing with some jacka- oh. 

_ The fight. _

Quinn groaned as he remained as still as possible to avoid any pain that came with lifting even a finger. He must’ve gotten his ass beat badly if he was in this much agony from just breathing alone. “Ugh . . . Some asshole kept fuckin’ with me, pardon my language. Called me names. I think I punched him first? Everything is fuzzy.” 

The man didn’t reply, silently urging Quinn to continue without saying another word. He was gauging the best he could if the ghoul had suffered any head trauma after being not only beaten bloody but whacked in the forehead with the butt end of a gun. The brain could take some knocking around, but who knew how much? Quinn continued to speak, breath ragged and wavered from the bruises across his body aching. “We started fighting. Everyone and their mom showed up to watch. We fought, he pulled out a gun, I blacked out. That’s all I remember.”

Quinn added on as he thought back to the brutal fight, “Jesus, we really went at it, didn’t we? I’m guessing I didn’t win, huh?”

A small chuckle was heard across the room, the rustling of what sounded like heavy armor moving as he laughed quietly. “No, pal. You didn’t win, unfortunately. I was rooting for you, though. That guy had it comin’. I need to check and make sure you weren’t knocked around too much. What’s your name?”

Quinn sighed out, his eyes stinging from a white lamplight as he forced himself to pry them open. He was staring up at a dirt-caked ceiling with various roots and wires hanging from the Earth above him, furrowing his non-existent eyebrows together unsure of what he was looking at. The voice of his mystery man spoke while snapping his fingers together to get Quinn’s attention back. “Hey, bud, _over here._ Stay with me, alright? Name?”

The ghoul slowly moved his head to the left to take in what was around him. He was in what seemed to be some sort of cellar but wasn’t sure how deep it was or if it was an odd makeshift fallout bunker. It held a silver long table with a shining tray that held in it different surgical equipment and a few needle-based chems. A hair-dressing type chair was sat in front of the medical table, worn cream leather cracking to show dismay over the years of being used. Quinn was lying on a red sofa that he had sunken into flat on his back without a pillow or any sort of cushion. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a matching cherry red cushioned stool-chair that was being used by the voice of his questioner. Captor? The man who spoke was in full Diamond City uniform with a clipboard in his hands, yet Quinn wasn’t cuffed or being held prisoner as far as he knew of. What the hell was going on?

“Quinn the Ghoul,” he responded, confusion thick on his face as he squinted to try and see who the man was behind the mask. “I don’t-”

Quinn was cut off by the guard scribbling quickly onto the clipboard paper that was faced away from the ghoul, speaking in a firm deep tone, “Pre-War name?”

The beat-up man closed his eyes briefly for a moment as he tried to think back, sadly, to the name he had previously before the bombs fell. He had been going by _‘Quinn the Ghoul’_ long enough now that who he was previously to being frozen in time was nothing more than a distant memory. He no longer resembled that man. Who he was Old World was a stranger to him. Thinking back for a solid second, he reopened his eyes and looked at the man as he answered. “Quinn Anthony Sterner.”

The guard nodded and went resumed moving his pencil back and forth. “Age and sex?”

Quinn scoffed at the question as he sat up, pain shooting up his body from his feet to his pounding head. _Sex? Really?_ Quinn let out a small holler as he hoisted his body upright, gritting his teeth as he responded. “Two-hundred some odd years. You lose count after a while. And male, obviously.”

Back to scribbling. Quinn shook his head, leaning into the back of the couch and huffing out a few harsh breaths. Nothing felt broken, thank Atom, but he could feel his blood rushing to multiple bruises that had particularly been targeted while being beaten up. He looked over his body to see dark black, blue, green, and yellow bruises scattered throughout what skin was still intact. Damn, how long was he out for? Some of the bruises had been at least a day old. The guard asked another question, bringing the focus on Quinn’s mind back to the conversation at hand. 

“Gender?”

Quinn blinked a few times. _Didn’t he just ask that?_

“Didn’t you just ask that?”

“No,” the guard replied as he lowered his pencil and stared at the hurt man from under the shade of his helmet. “I asked if you had sex. You replied with male, so I wrote down you have sex with men. Gender?”

He wasn’t wrong. However, Quinn found the entire situation to be a joke. Why did some guard care if his dogs were barking or not? He was about to leave Diamond City and head for whatever settlement was closest that could get him drunker than hell until the pain stopped pressing into his body. He didn’t care to participate in whatever file, criminal or not, they were going to make against him. The ghoul stood onto his feet, biting his tongue as the pain surged through his frame. “Yeah, I’m outta here.”

The guard stood up, turning the clipboard face up onto the silver table and tossing the pencil freely next to the few papers that were attached. The clipboard paper that the man had been writing on revealed to be a stick figure smiling with a, also smiling, sun in the corner of the paper. Eyes watching the ghoul try and find his footing with the ground, the mystery man held out his hands to hold Quinn upright. The ghoul, though cautiously, accepted. “Okay, you can leave,” the guard informed. “But, you’ll have to first submit to a cavity search. Can’t have you waltzin’ around up there with some _tightly_ tucked away knives after this whole fiasco, now can we?”

Quinn’s pink sclera eyes widened as he snapped his head up, meeting the stare of the man who watched him with a small smile almost completely hidden away under the baseball helmet. Quinn paused as he took in the guard’s outfit, looking from bottom to the top till he noticed something that had been staring him in the face the whole time. Literally. 

Sunglasses. Those fucking sunglasses under the helmet. 

_  
Deacon. _

  
Quinn sucked in a strained breath and clicked his tongue once, keeping his eyes intense as he looked at himself in the reflection of the dark shades. “You have about five seconds to tell me what’s going on before you lose your left hand, Deek.” At that, Quinn squeezed Deacon’s left hand that held his, serious in his tone but not his intention. Well, maybe a little serious. 

Deacon let go of Quinn’s hands and removed his guard helmet along with the overly bulky chest plate to reveal his signature amused smile and sunglasses, bald underneath and not bothered to wear his black wig with the already warm facemask. He watched Quinn’s expression let up, but only barely, still annoyed with the endless questions and uninformed revelation of what the fuck had happened and was currently happening. “Aw, come on, babe,” Deacon raised his voice up to the normal pitch when Quinn silently folded his arms. “I had to make sure you were still with it. You got hit pretty damn hard more than once. I had to get a baseline of where your head was at. You get that, right?”

Quinn wanted to be mad at the disguise and deception of not revealing his identity right away, but a small portion of him also understood where Deacon was coming from. Being pistol-whipped head-on wasn’t usually a clean procedure afterwards, but add on top of that blunt fists to the face? 

The ghoul sighed as he uncrossed his arms, silently moving forward and tightly hugging his boyfriend who he hadn’t seen a few days prior to the fight in Diamond City. Though not a hugger, Deacon accepted the affection with the understanding of his partner needing some comforting after having his ass beat in front of the entire town. He hugged back just as tight, smiling to himself when Quinn buried his face into his neck the same way he did back home when it was just the two of them in their Sanctuary home. “How long have I been out,” Quinn muffled into Deacon’s skin.

The original Railroad agent answered softly while caressing his fingers across Quinn’s back, relaxing the ghoul and attempting to alleviate some of the discomforts. His muscles were deeply tight, Deacon thought, and not in the good, fun way. “Day or so,” Deacon replied. “We're down in the surgery center cellar. Been stirring around mostly. You’d wake up to holler somethin’ and then pass back out, but that’s nothing new. Doc upstairs keeps comin' to check on you on and off.”

Quinn nodded, closing his eyes and allowing the world around them to slip away for just a moment. It was true about him waking up to yell and then falling back asleep. Sometimes he wouldn’t even be awake, his nightmare ripping through his unconscious body and reacting as if he was fighting the dream in the real world. It had been like that for nearly two or three years now, ever since he woke up from being on ice. “What happened after the guard shot? Unless I’m in limbo right now, which very well could be the case, I’m guessing he missed.”

Deacon laughed lightly, trying not to think about what had happened if the man had succeeded at shooting Quinn in the head. “Well, he shot right as I stepped in and hit him over the head with a baseball bat I swiped from Joe’s. Wasn’t going to interfere and blow my cover, but none of those damned guards were doing anything. They were exchanging side bets over who would win while you got the daylights knocked out of you.”

Deacon shook his head as he recalled the so-called ‘guards’ drawing up a scoreboard of bets and odds against the truly defenseless ghoul that hadn’t had a weapon on him to defend himself. It was cruel watching the unfair fight against a tall, skinny, blind man against a fully armored jacked guard. “Bonked him in the head as he shot. If I had been even a fifth of a second later . . . “

Deacon’s voice trailed off. Quinn responded by planting a fragile kiss into the man’s neck, keeping his eyes shut as he allowed his boyfriend to not continue on with the story. 

Quinn pulled away from Deacon and looked up into the dark-rimmed sunglasses as he searched for the hidden eyes that lied beyond. The beat-up man could see himself in the reflection and he sure looked like he had died and gone to hell for a vacation stay. He was bruised in the eyes, lips split in two different places with deep dried blood into the wounds, small scrapes on his jaw on top of the reddened skin that had been attacked. It was hard for him to look at himself let alone process what Deacon must’ve been seeing. Quinn didn’t have to look far, however, before the man shared exactly what was thinking.

“I should’ve stopped it sooner. I should’ve broken that fucker’s skull open the moment I heard him call you a zo- the second he called you that,” Deacon caught himself from repeating the awful word. “I could’ve jumped in right then and still played the guard part, telling him to ease up or something. Instead, I waited until it escalated and you felt like you had no choice but to fight and-”

Quinn shushed the man quietly, placing his black-red knuckled hand onto Deacon’s left cheek. The other’s voice died off, eyebrows drew together in concern and sympathy for the situation that he felt allowed to happen while he did nothing about it. The ghoul reached up with his free left hand and carefully removed Deacon’s sunglasses, lowering his hand back down to his side with the shades tightly enclosed. The agent’s ocean blue eyes were dark with heavy circles surrounding them, an indication of lack of sleep far beyond watching over Quinn while he recovered. How long had he gone without sleep so he could watch over the man? The plan had been for Deacon to check in with the Railroad and on some of the synths who were enjoying their lives as free people, but to then hang back at Sanctuary to confirm that the place was running smoothly. The couple had long talks in the past about Deacon feeling the need to spy on Quinn, especially with throwing himself in the middle of whatever trouble the ghoul had gotten into. 

Is that why he felt so guilty? Deacon was following directions to not interfere, yet by him doing nothing he must’ve felt like a bystander and no different than those who were cheering on in excitement. It made Quinn’s heart hurt at the guess of how torn Deacon must’ve felt while watching his boyfriend be verbally attacked without having permission to step in. Break a set boundary with your partner or moral code? 

Which was worse?

Quinn wordlessly leaned forward and rested his lips onto Deacon’s, closing his eyes as he tried to block out any more thoughts. Deacon responded by kissing back slowly, pulling Quinn’s hips forward to hold onto his boyfriend as if he was never letting go. The ghoul slipped the sunglasses into his own pocket, thinking back to the first time Deacon had revealed his identity without the safety of his shades. It was a tender moment, including the one they were sharing now. It was nothing to see Deacon without his glasses since that day about a year ago, though Quinn still counted his lucky stars at the trust that was put into him.

The soft kiss eased after only a few seconds, the pair removing their lips and pressing foreheads together as the taller ghoul mumbled between them. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Quinn whispered. “I should’ve just listened to Piper. To walk away, ignore him, to do something other than fight. I’ve given my people a bad name. What are the others supposed to think about ghouls now? I’ve fucked up any progress we made, Deacon. All because of some racist asshole that got exactly what he wanted: a rise out of me.”

The human shook his head, fingers hooking absentmindedly into the belt loops of Quinn’s dark blue jeans. “No, you didn’t fuck it up. In fact,” Deacon looked up at the man with a kind smile on his face and eyes bright with love as he pulled his head back to watch Quinn. “Geneva made an official statement. All fancy and published using Piper’s newspaper press and hand-delivered around town. She said that you were acting in a position of defense and the man is to be put in jail until further notice because, according to the big mayor, there is a zero-tolerance policy of racism and discrimination in Diamond City.”

At that, Quinn could’ve cried. Easily. 

Not only were ghouls allowed still in the town, but the fight between him and the guard was being used as an example of how the city will react to inequality among their people. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded slowly, pressing a quick peck onto Deacon’s lips with his own lips forming into a smile. Thank Atom Geneva was sensible, unlike that asshat McDonough who killed ghouls to win some made-up political spot. “Aaaaaand, as if that wasn’t enough,” Deacon continued on. “You get to decide when that dickhead gets out. I say we keep him in there for, like, ever. Or maybe we keep him locked up until he downs enough radiation to become a ghoul himself. That’ll show the bastard.”

Quinn laughed loudly and suddenly between them, grinning at the thought of his attacker getting exactly what he deserved in a weird show of Commonwealth karma. Laughter breaking down after a few heavy breaths, Quinn concluded, “No, no, no, Deek. That would be considered what the Old World lawyers like to call _‘cruel and unusual,’_ okay?” 

The ghoul of the two was smiling wide despite having looked as if he had been through the wringer far too many times. He looked rough, but that damn smile of his. It drove Deacon wild in the best of ways. Matching back the grin, Deacon kissed up at the neck of the slightly taller man and occasionally nipped at the taught leather-like skin, prompting Quinn to yelp with a playful giggle as he tried to squirm away from Deacon. “Oh, come on, handsome. Don’t tell me that wouldn’t be, _what do they call it,_ poetic justice? I know you old Pre-War types love those tropes.”

The human continued to try and softly bite the other, even taking to tickling Quinn the further the other tried to escape. “Have mercy, sir,” Quinn dramatically shouted, falling back onto the couch as he felt the weight of Deacon crash next to him in an attempt to be mindful of the bruised body. “I ain’t nothin’ but a poor, broken, innocent ghoul! Spare me!”

Deacon laughed at the overdone tone of his boyfriend, continuing to tickle his ribs and fight back against the giggling Quinn every time his hands were shoved away. “Nope, sorry, ain’t buyin’ it. I heard aaaaaall about you, Mister Sterner,” Deacon pronounced as he fell into the made-up character of the guard he had been playing. “I’ve heard the stories of a devastatingly handsome ghoul who wanders, _and-oh-my-fucking-god-do-you-wander-so-damn-much,_ around the Commonwealth lookin’ to stir up trouble. The price on his head for the heinous deeds he has done? One ba-jillion caps. And I’m here to collect one way or another.”

Deacon slowed down his tickle when Quinn was gasping for air and snorting through his giggles the way he did when he laughed too hard, pleading through his lack of air for Deacon to spare his life. The human chuckled in response, easing up on the assault with a warm smile matching that of his partner’s. It was times like these that made all of the bullshit, all of the heartache, all of the desolation worth every single second. There was nowhere else Deacon would rather be than to be here with Quinn the Ghoul, soaking up each other’s company with the rest of the universe somewhere distant and irrelevant. 

They were here together. What else could they need?

After Quinn regained his breath and his giggles winded down to an end, he positioned himself to lay in the lap of Deacon and relax flat on his back. The upright of the pair traced mindless fingers across Quinn’s radiation charred and flaked skin, following the endless lines and wrinkles to nowhere in particular as the comfort of silence fell upon them. It was the type of silence that was warm and inviting, the kind where getting lost in thought was welcomed.

_ “How much is his bail?” _

Deacon snapped his attention back to his partner after a few minutes of nothing had passed, pausing the outlining of Quinn’s skin as he blinked in response. Pieces quickly coming together, Deacon tilted his head and simply, yet firmly, responded.

“No, Q.”

Quinn watched his boyfriend from below, eyes fixed on Deacon’s as he nodded in confirmation of what the human had been thinking. Quinn was selfless to the point it became an issue at times, always putting himself in bad situations that would benefit anyone far from himself. Deacon wished Quinn had some bone in his body that worried about his own wellbeing and needs above others, but unfortunately in the years he had known Quinn and dated him, he had still yet to find one. “You’re not bailing him out after one day. That’s letting him off the hook for being a total and complete prick. He’s a racist and deserves to be in there for a long while, handsome. Letting him go now would make this whole thing pointless and would be putting you back in danger.”

The ghoul below Deacon thought about what he had said, turning it over in his mind a few times before bluntly responding back. “I disagree,” Quinn stated. “Keeping him in there is what’s pointless. He is going to sit in there and think about how much he fucking hates the ghoul that put him in there. If I let him out now, I’m showing him the kindness and generosity my people are capable of. Why keep him in there to stew and further his hate against ghouls?”

Deacon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He almost fucking killed you, Quinn. He’s already an asshole who is no better than the Brotherhood, we just happen to catch him in the act of being a dick and put him in jail where he should be. What example are we setting for the residents of Diamond City if we let him go after not only being a racist fuckhead but one who tried to kill you over being a ghoul? Over who you are? He'll come after you.”

Quinn sat up from Deacon’s lap, sitting on his knees and holding his posture so he was level with his partner as he spoke quickly and from the heart. “We are setting an example of mercy and strength! We are showing that ghouls are not to be fucked with, but also can be put in a position of power. We can carry out judgment and law with reasonable punishments. The man, I’m sure, has already lost his job and will probably be exiled from Diamond City, so wh-”

The ghoul was cut off from speaking when his shoulders were suddenly grabbed tightly by Deacon, the glove covered uniformed hands shaking Quinn lightly as he spoke with a voice crack to fill his wavered voice. “I can’t fucking lose you, Quinn! What don't you understand about that? I can’t let some fucker run around with a grudge against you and hole up somewhere in the ‘Wealth and take you out with one clean sniper shot to the head while you’re helping some desperate settler do god-knows-what! I can’t- I can’t put you in that position to be hurt. I can’t let some ignorant asshole take you away from me over something so stupid as your skin type!”

Deacon’s breath was shaky, hot air pushing between them as his eyes searched through Quinn’s with desperation of needing to protect his own. The pair had been together for nearly a year now, sharing everything they had between the two of them including Quinn’s synthetic son, Shaun. The little boy called Deacon, _“Papa,”_ even. And for Deacon to be asked to even consider the possibility of freeing someone who had a personal vendetta against his life partner?

It was quiet between them, though Deacon had softened his grip on Quinn’s bruised shoulders when he realized how hard he had been squeezing during his outburst. He was usually cool, calm, and collected, but when it came to the safety of his family? Deacon couldn’t turn the other way for the sake of kindness that Quinn wanted to relay.  
  
How could he?

Quinn’s face was sad, but for the reason of Deacon. He wasn’t sad over the man who tried to kill him, no, he was sad for the worry he caused his boyfriend even though the anxiety was reciprocated. Each time Deacon went out on another long unknown Railroad mission without a return date in sight Quinn felt the same level of stress he saw in Deacon’s eyes that stared back at him, the worry unable to be shielded by the sunglasses that were taken away. 

The ghoul cupped Deacon’s face when he looked away, blue eyes wanting to look anywhere else but his partner and face what to do with the now ex-guard. Quinn asked quietly, moving Deacon’s face so the man would make eye contact, “What would Curie say to us, hm?”

_“Compromise,”_ the men both said at the same time, strain in their tones at the overused word used by the synth. 

Any meaningless spat or rare argument that came up between the pair resulted in them doing some odd New World marriage counseling with the french synth who was delighted to help using her vast storehouse of knowledge. She would always press that they compromise and communicate to get what they both wanted, though oftentimes with compromising ended up with nowhere close to what they had been fighting for at all.

“I’ll start,” Quinn smiled warmly, taking in caution at the high emotional bar the situation. “How about we leave him in there for a week, but I get to check in on him and talk to him during his sentence so when he gets out he doesn’t have my name at the top of his shitlist?”

Deacon frowned. _A week? Really? That was it?_

“Five years. You don’t visit him and then I kill him in the night while you are tucking Shaun in and reading him a bedtime story. I make it look like an accident and I'm home by midnight so we can share a glass of red wine in celebration. After that, we all live happily ever after.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes at the man in warning to take the situation at least a quarter way seriously. They needed to come up with a solution, a real one that was plausible and practical. Seeing the dreaded look that he was being shot with, Deacon sucked in air through his teeth and gave the contemplation an honest effort. What was fair, but also was deserved?

“Okay,” he began. “What about a year? He is banned from Diamond City, Goodneighbor, and all other major local settlements that have a peace treaty. You don’t visit him and everyone goes our separate ways?”

Quinn smiled at the attempt to come up with a fair deal. The ghoul leaned forward to Deacon, planting a few stray kisses on his stubbled jawline with his left hand holding himself up while the right moved to rest on Deacon’s chest. “Warmer.”

Oh, hell, now? Down in the _surgery center basement?_

Deacon rested his palms flat behind him as he felt the weight of Quinn start to press against his frame, thinking through another sensible deal. Deacon was getting closer to the compromise that Quinn had envisioned, but he couldn’t let the man seduce him into a deal that he would regret later. Or, at least, try not to let him. Right? 

“Six months. No visits. I drive an ice pick through his e- ah!”

Quinn bit a section of Deacon’s neck, prompting the man to half cry out in surprise. “Okay, okay, sheesh! Six months. No visits. He gets outdoors-time, though.”

The ghoul found it simply adorable at how hard Deacon was trying to find the common ground between them yet keep his own convictions on the manner. “A” for effort and all that. 

“Hotter.”

God, what else could he want? Six months was practically a fucking steal for trying to have someone killed over their race. Deacon understood Quinn wanting to show how kind ghouls can be, which he had no problem with, but when it involved his own partner? That was a different story with, if Deacon had his way, a different ending. Why should this guy get off easy for being a disgusting human being? 

Deacon had one final offer. Judging by the way Quinn sucked hickeys into his neck and ghosted his hand across the lining of his guard uniform pants, he was getting close to the million-dollar answer. “Almost there,” Quinn hushed when he removed his mouth from Deacon’s neck as he slipped his fingertips inside the waistband of the pants and underwear, but just barely so. 

Deacon was quick to answer, feeling the stirring and heat below the belt that was coming on quickly and unable to think straight at the soft touch of Quinn. He knew that ultimately he would lose the battle between him and Quinn, finding himself usually on the ass end of a bad deal because he let his dick do the thinking when the ghoul threatened to use his wicked sex powers against him.“Oh, fuck, fine,” Deacon huffed. “Two and a half months. No visits.”

Quinn’s hands inched further down his skin, nearly at the base, but just teasingly so. The ghoul mumbled into Deacon’s ear, eyes closed and voice lustful with intent, “Atom, babe. _You're on fire."_

And that, of course, went straight to Deacon’s dick.

“Fine! Fine! Jesus fucking Christ, you’re killing me here. Two and a half months, plus occasional visits only if I guard.”

And, at that, Quinn suddenly retreated his hand fully out of Deacon’s pants and stood up from the couch quickly with a pep in his step and a satisfied smile across his face. Thank you, Curie, for teaching him the art of compromise and seduction techniques. 

“Well, fine, that sounds fair, I guess. I’m going to go do the first visit now. Let him see I’m actually alive and well.”

Deacon sat on the couch with his mouth agape, dick somewhat hard, and absolutely amazed at Quinn’s smoothness in tactic, in manipulation, to get what he wanted. He was good at that. 

A little too good. 

Deacon found himself not believing how easily he felt safe enough to be talked down to a measly two and a half months after first being committed to life in prison or in the ground. He had always held himself to be a great manipulator, but this? Deacon smiled at himself as he stood up from the couch to watch over the first visit. Codename ‘Wanderer’ was good at charming people, of course, when he wanted to be. 

“You sneaky little sly bastard. Fine. Quick visit. Then we are going to test out some of these guard handcuffs, got it?”

Quinn made his way over to the ladder that leads to the entrance of the surgery center, turning his attention back to Deacon only momentarily. “What,” he innocently questioned, “did I forget to add that in the agreement? Of course, we are.”

Deacon smiled while he watched as his boyfriend made his way up the rung ladder out into the bustling Diamond City, cursing to himself at the lack of recollection as he searched his memory to recall whatever he had done to deserve Quinn the Ghoul.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! I had fun writing this. It's always a blast to write for Deacon.

**Author's Note:**

> hnngggg I fucking hate ghoul racists!!! Ghouls are normal people trying to live their lives and it's about time they are let into Diamond City!


End file.
